Summer of the Mariposas

There were so many of them joining in the dance that soon they moved as one. Their bodies became a collective, a tapestry of wing and wind that fluttered with life, transforming into the figure of a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in a shimmering tunic of gold and green jade. She looked like an Aztec goddess, but her face was that of a Mexican girl, the face of our many friends and cousins, a teenager, like us.

“Odilia is right. We’re the Garza girls, cinco hermanitas, five little sisters under the protection of the goddess,” she said, holding the stake in front of her with both hands and anchoring the sharp point of it on the ground.

“That’s right,” I said. I looked down at Pita, who was clutching her ankle, wincing. “Remember what I told you? La Llorona said we must remain noble and kind. We should grant mercy when it is asked of us.”

“Your father is like the sun, splendid to behold, but he must descend and let darkness rule for a time.”

I don’t get it,” Pita said.

The virgen stepped down from her throne and touched Pita’s face. “Without night there would be no rest, no room for growth. It is just the way things are,” Tonantzin explained in a serene voice.

[…]

“I know you don’t understand what is happening with your family,” Tonantzin said gently. “But you will, when the time comes. A new dawn is approaching, but you are very clever, very brave. You will not be blinded by his light.”

“Tenochtitlan,” Abuelita said, looking in wonder at the great city looming over the swampy lake. “The Aztecs decided to build it here, on the lake, when they saw the sign—an eagle sitting on a cactus, eating a snake. It was the center of a great empire, the home of our ancestors.”

I watched Ixtali row and row, taking us away from the city. “Why are we so far from home?” I asked.

“This is the goddess’s gift to you,” she said. “A vision, to always remember who you are, where you came from, as you develop a better future.”

“You have done well, my daughter. Your migration through the voyage of pain and sorrow has been hard, but you are at the end of your journey. The Ancients have waited a long time for you to emerge, to spread your wings, to take flight. And now, they are ready for you to come home.”

“Only the sun is the alone in the sky,” the Virgen’s voice answered me from beyond the shadows of night. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel her presence all around me. “I am with you every day. I am the moon, the stars, the sky. I am the river. I am the morning sigh. Remember mi Mariposa pequeña. You are one of many. You are one of us.”

At her words, a swarm of butterflies fluttered out of the hackberry shrubs and flitted around me, dusting me with delight.